


High for This

by shescardinal



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 06:18:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shescardinal/pseuds/shescardinal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam can finally breathe, just as long as it's exhaled from Zayn's lips.  Inspired by The Weeknd's song of the same title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	High for This

**Author's Note:**

> You should definitely, DEFINITELY put this song on replay - "High for This" by The Weeknd. You will not regret it.

The house is stifling. He knew it was cold here, at home, in the lovely home he shared with her. But it is hot in the house, thin tanned limbs covered in jumpers and woolen slippers and cups of tea left on the counter nearly finished. There are magazines on the table, nail polish jumbled in drawers, and so much hair clogging the drain every morning. He doesn’t mind. He loves her. But after the last few months, it is a little much. 

The tour of the States was incredible, a dream come true. He thought he would be happy to be home, home sweet home, where the heart is, etc etc. Instead, something felt off. He missed his best mates, the solidarity of the road, of the incredible experiences no one at home could share. It wasn’t something you could describe. He was so grateful, so happy for the break, but tonight, he needs an escape.

He clicks the screen on his phone while Dani was in the shower, texting quietly in the dim light. The couch beneath him feels too clean, the air too clear, everything too much for him. The response back is quick and his pulse beats a rhythm in his veins he couldn’t shut out. He jumps up from the couch, stuck his head in the bathroom to shout through the steam.

“Hey babe – I have to go out for a bit, Zayn’s having some trouble with this song we’re recording in a few days. Promised I’d help him a bit. That okay? May be home late?” Her dark head peers through the curtain, wide innocent sweet smile. She nods, blowing him a kiss, back to her deep conditioner. A pang of guilt, of sly deception stabs him in the side, but he pulls on his red jumper anyway. It is a quick hop to Zayn’s, and the walk and trip in the elevator allows him to pull air into his lungs for the first time all day.

They started dating when he was so young, as sweet as candy floss, and he was so blissfully happy. She was his first real girlfriend, not his first everything but definitely his first real love. She was everything. But then sometimes, she wasn’t. The boys had shown him an entire world unknown to him before – so much more than Wolverhampton. Their affection was genuine, their fun real, and their experiences so much more than he thought they would be. His jokes were naughtier, his laughter came quicker, and life became just… fuller. But it wasn’t the clean quiet of Danielle and their sweet love. It was dirtier. He was dirtier.

Zayn answers the door in his beater and a snapback, grey sweats low on his hips and Drake on the speakers. He smiles in the cool way Zayn does, quickly and sweetly but enough to make your heart stutter. Then he is back to smoldering in the dim light of his identical flat, though it was darker, rougher, manlier. Leather and smoke and flannel instead of canvas and faux fur and white washed lavender. 

“Alright then, Li?” Zayn’s voice is low and deep, throaty with cigarettes and disuse. Zayn enjoyed days upon days holed up at home, quiet and tucked away, clearing the spaces in his mind. That kind of solitude and independence were unfamiliar to Liam, something he admired and yearned for. He nods, Zayn knowing what’s happening now. This occurred for the first time since they came home last Tuesday, and he knows how it will end up. It’s not like Liam, but he’s not even sure how the Tour Liam and the Home Liam will ever be one person. There is a disconnect there he doesn’t know how to mend. If he really wants to mend them at all, he wonders. 

Last week he and Zayn made pot brownies and sat on the couch, blissed out and calm. They each drank a rather large glass of whiskey, something that seemed like the thing to do at the time. Liam rarely drank, but the smoky burn felt cleansing. He wasn’t quite sure what happened, but his hands ended up somewhere south of Zayn’s waist and he tasted the flavor of his cigarettes from Zayn’s tongue. It wasn’t the first time they kissed. It was, however, the first time he breathed in fresh air from Zayn’s lungs in the aftershocks of a mess in his own pants. It was different, but different wasn’t bad. Different wasn’t a stifling flat at all.

Liam sits on the couch, legs tucked underneath him, and Zayn returns from his bedroom with a bowl packed and ready to go. His heart skips awkwardly, unsure of his real commitment to getting high. Zayn looks up at him from the other side of the couch from underneath the thickest lashes on the planet. Liam nods through the nervousness, and watches Zayn take a deep, heavy hit. The smoke is heady and he is glued to Zayn’s perfect lips blowing it out. He tries to mimic him, unable to make it look anything but easy. Zayn chuckles, low but moves to take it from him. He repeats, but crooks his finger at Liam slowly. Liam sits up a little, rocks his weight onto his knees but unsure of what to do.

Until Zayn’s lips ghost over his, he then is quite up to speed. His lips part, breathing the sticky sweetness easily and holding it in. His tongue rubs the grooved inside of his teeth, and Liam is still bathed in the warmth of Zayn’s proximity. It’s entirely too much. He sinks back onto his heels, feeling relaxed for the first time since he was here last. This Liam is the one he needs to be, and Zayn is the one he needs in front of him. No long hair to get tangled in, but scruff burning his own skin. 

He catches Zayn staring at his lips, and can only respond, “Again.” 

Their lips slot together after he exhales, no longer needing the pretense of the hit between them. It’s right and slow and fuck, Zayn is the deepest kisser he’s ever known. Zayn’s thumbs bracket his mouth, tilting him for the best angle. How has he ever been kissed another way, he will never know. Zayn climbs over him, straddling him on the dark couch, using Liam’s shoulders as leverage. There’s nothing sudden about their motions, weighted and limbs as slow as honey. Liam’s hands move from Zayn’s hair to his waist, pulling him closeclosecloser. The natural northern progression slips his shirt off, fingertips ghosting over lithe tan skin leaving goose bumps in the wake. When their mouths part, Zayn tugs Liam’s shirt off and semicircle imprint of teeth on the meat of his shoulder. The mark may last. 

Zayn slips off the couch, breathing heavily and watching Liam with the darkest of eyes. His hands play at the elastic of Liam’s shorts and he bites his lip asking permission. It is all Liam can do to nod, to not groan and fist his hair painfully. His cock is straining, thick and weighty as Zayn grasps the base blowing over it. The perfect lips that had elegantly handled the smoke made a move over him, and this time the groan was in the air before Liam could choke it down. The wet sweet suction was obscene, the muscles in Zayn’s throat blessed by the highest of wicked higher powers. Liam wanted to roll his head back and give in to the bliss, but Zayn’s intense eyes make it hard to look anywhere else. The long stripes of his tongue, swirling and flattening and flicking places in Liam didn’t know were there. Losing all sense of reality, Liam feels the moment drawing to an unfortunate and rather quickened ending. He sputters something like a warning, but Zayn raises an eyebrow and sinks to the root. It’s entirely more than any man could handle, and the inside of his eyelids finally break the eye contact. 

When the fog lifts, Zayn is holding him by the shoulders, eyelashes so close to his own he isn’t sure where he ends and Zayn begins. He lifts his mouth, pressing in and somehow swiping an escaped bead of come from Zayn’s upper lip. Liam moans at the taste, strange and erotic in a way he never imagined. His breath evens and he palms Zayn through his sweat pants, thumb teasing over the dark wet spot left by his painful arousal. Zayn’s head tilts back, lolling over the couch cushion, and Liam takes the initiative. His hands flip the waistband down, the head of Zayn’s cock shiny in the dim haze of the living room. Liam swipes a slow taste. His mouth descends, feeling emboldened by the groans above him, knees sinking into the carpet. It’s less awkward than he imagined, though difficult to think about teeth and pressure and swirling and living up to the one he got. But a mouth on a cock is always going to be pretty bloody brilliant.

“Stop.” Zayn tugs his hair, making a groaning painful noise as his mouth lewdly pops off. Liam’s eyes disappointed, until Zayn finishes the thought. “I want to fuck you. Can I, Li? Please?”

Liam’s flush amps up, scarlet cheeks but he nods, fervently. He isn’t sure why, but he’s never wanted anything more. Zayn fists his cock, spit slick, as he pads softly to the bedroom for supplies. Liam stays rooted to the couch, mind dimly registering that he shouldn’t be doing this, but he’s doing it anyway. Or, rather, Zayn’s doing him anyway.

Zayn watches down at him as he sinks a little further into the couch, moving one leg over the back of the couch. Liam reaches up, pulling Zayn’s mouth to his, replacing Zayn’s teeth with his own on that pouty bottom lip. This is an adequate enough distraction for Zayn to pull Liam’s down leg up, canting his hips up to get better access. His hands are soft but insisting, circling the place Liam wants him most, warm and teasing. One fingertip presses in. Liam scrapes his teeth over tanned nipples, laving his tongue over to ease the sensation. It doesn’t take long, just more lube, and Zayn’s moving two fingers in fully, making Liam’s eyes roll back into his head. There was a secret pleasure locked in him, deeper and more electric than he had known before.

“Go on, Zayn, please, go on. I want it.” Apparently this was exactly the right thing to say, as Zayn’s head rolled to his chest as he took a deep breath. But most importantly, he replaced his fingers with his cock after swiping the condom with fresh lube. The blunt pressure, the push, the deep willing breath Zayn took – it was all Liam could do to pull air into his lungs and keep relaxed. But with the twinge of pain and a whole lot of full, Zayn’s head dropped to rest their foreheads together. He is deep, all Liam could feel, all he could think about. The slow slide of him inside him, inside him, is more than enough to give him chills and make his eyelashes flutter against his cheek. They share air, open mouths panting into one another, as the sensations took them both over. It isn’t exactly comfortable, but when Zayn hitches his leg up higher, curving Liam more, that electric spot sent black spots through his vision. Liam’s cock is trapped between them, flushed and weeping, growing impossibly fuller as that hidden spot was hit. 

“Oh God, Liam, I- I- can’t even – bloody love you.” And with that, Zayn’s hips stuttered, irregular and Liam can’t close his eyes. He doesn’t want to miss the scrunch of Zayn’s brow or the squeeze of his eyes shut in the wake of it all. But Zayn’s hand has slipped between them, twisting and tugging until Liam falls apart, boneless and blissed out.

The afterwards is slightly messy, the discomfort nags but isn’t awful. It’s a reminder of what they shared. Pants now up and cocks covered, they sit on the floor, whiskey in hand as Zayn rolls a cigarette. He offers, but Liam declines, resting his head instead on Zayn’s shoulder. The weight of their actions isn’t heavy, but it settles over them nonetheless. 

“Did you mean it- what you said?” Liam’s voice is quiet and slow, as he watches the smoke leave the wicked lips that formed the words.

“That I bloody well love you?” Zayn doesn’t look at him, but nods anyway. This kiss is sweeter, less teeth and less deep but powerful in promise. 

The morning light filters in softly, Zayn’s hair tickling his nose. They are entangled, nothing but limbs and hair and teeth marks. Liam runs his tongue down the column of Zayn’s throat, swirling his hips to wake him. A low groan greets him, tan hands sliding down his back to grip his backside. The lazy kiss turns intense, morning erections nestled between them until it’s too much and they are sticky and sated instead. Liam washes Zayn’s hair, borrows clothes for the inevitable going home. 

It isn’t promises, just more breathy kisses, as he says goodbye at the door. And when Liam is home, he can be the Liam she remembers and loves. When Liam feels too wrapped up, he chooses to wrap himself in Zayn instead. It’s secret and dirty, but that’s the way Liam needs it. It’s when he can really breathe deeply, even if it is air illicitly passed from Zayn’s mouth to his.


End file.
